By the fifth, she'll be so full of this one's seed that her belly distends with it.
The Hunt always ends the same way. But this Hunt matters, because she's the one this one has waited forty seasons to claim. The one whose offspring will be perfect. The one whose body already sings for the breeding tentacles that ache to plant deep inside her.
The tide turns, bringing fresh taste of her desperation.
Very soon.
NAIA
Iwake to find my pussy literally dripping onto the sand. Not metaphorically. Not slightly wet. A steady stream of arousal that pools beneath me, making the black sand gleam. The coral I slept against glows brilliant blue-green where my body touched it, pulsing like it absorbed my need overnight.
Everything is worse today. So much worse.
Every breath makes my oversensitive nipples rub against nothing but air, and even that's too much. They're swollen, darker than normal, constantly hard. My clit has enlarged further overnight, protruding from its hood like it's seeking attention I can't give it. When I try to walk, my thighs slide against each other, slick with the constant wetness my body won't stop producing.
The scale he gave me burns hot in my hand. He's near. Always near.
Low tide reveals more of the island than I saw yesterday. The coral formations extend in a rough bridge toward another small island maybe fifty meters away. The exposed coral is sharp, rough, but if I can make it across, maybe that island has fresh water that isn't drugged. Maybe it has food. Maybe it has anything that isn't this constant torture of need.
I study the crossing. The coral bridge is only exposed for maybe an hour during lowest tide. Already, water fills the deeper channels, creating pools that glow with that same bioluminescence. The smart thing would be to stay put. Wait. But my throat is dry, and the only water he provided is gone.
The first step onto the coral bridge slices my foot open.
Not deeply, but enough to bleed. The cuts are clean, sharp as surgical incisions. Blood mingles with the arousal already coating my legs, dripping into the tide pools. The water immediately changes color, shifting from blue-green to deep purple.
I keep walking. What choice do I have? Each step cuts a little more. Not enough to cause real damage, but enough that I leave bloody footprints on the coral. The pain almost helps, giving my brain something to focus on besides the ache between my legs.
Halfway across, I notice the water in the channels starting to move differently. Swirling. Gathering.
The first razor-fish appears in the pool to my left. It's beautiful in the way nightmares can be beautiful. Translucent body showing organs that pulse with color. Fins that look like shattered glass. Teeth that are definitely teeth, even though no fish should have that many.
Then there are three. Then ten. Then too many to count.
They surge from the pool in a glittering wave.
I run, but running on sharp coral with cut feet is like dancing on broken glass. I make it maybe five steps before they reach me. The first one latches onto my calf, teeth sinking deep. The pain is immediate and wrong, burning like acid. Another hits my thigh. Another my hip.
I'm going to die here. Eaten alive by alien piranhas while my pussy drips uselessly, advertising my arousal to the thing that watches but won't help.
The water explodes.
Aylth erupts from what I thought was just another tide pool, but must be deep enough to hide his bulk. Tentacles whip through the air faster than my eyes can track. Razor-fish splatter against coral, torn apart in seconds. The ones attached to me are plucked off with precision that doesn't cause more damage, crushed in coils that pulse with bioluminescent rage.
In seconds, it's over. Fish parts float in the red-tinged water. I'm bleeding from a dozen bites, legs shaking, and he's there. All of him. In daylight. Close enough to touch.
God, he's beautiful. Terrifying but beautiful.
The tentacles that just dealt death move like silk through water, each one independent but coordinated. His torso rises from where tentacles merge, scaled in patterns that shift from blue to green to silver depending on the angle. His chest is broad, muscled in ways that are almost human but not quite. Too many muscle groups. Too much power. His arms are longer than human proportions, ending in hands that have webbing between fingers tipped with claws.
But it's his face that makes me forget to breathe. Angular features that could be called handsome if handsome could kill. Eyes that shift from silver to blue like deep water. A mouth that's almost human until he speaks and I see teeth designed for gripping prey.
“Foolish female ventures onto cutting reef,” he says, and his voice carries harmonics that make my pussy clench involuntarily. “Blood-scent calls every hunger for miles.”
“I needed water,” I manage.
“This one provides water. Female rejects, chooses pain instead.” A tentacle rises, and I see the underside clearly for the first time. Rows of suckers that pulse with their own bioluminescence, creating hypnotic patterns. The tip hovers near my bleeding leg. “Now requires healing or loses ability to run. Ability to pretend escape is possible.”
The tentacle touches my largest bite, and I gasp. Not from pain but from the sensation. Wherever the suckers contact my skin, they release something that makes the pain vanish instantly. But they also make the arousal worse. Much worse. The secretion absorbs through the wounds, directly into my bloodstream.
